


Lost on You

by soulofme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Feels, Getting Together, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pre-Kerberos Mission, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: Mistakes tend to warrant wishes for second chances. But when Keith gets his, it's nothing like he'd expected.[Or, the one in which Keith wasn't able to save Shiro, and gets sent back in time to the beginning of it all.]
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Lost on You

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a time travel fic so here we go lol. I've poured a lot of tears into this so please be gentle ;-;
> 
> ALSO I'M SO HAPPY TO BE WRITING ANOTHER SHEITH MULTICHAP
> 
> ok that's all on to the story

They win, but Shiro’s gone.

They win, and their world is saved, but _Shiro is gone_.

It doesn’t feel real. Not even after they lower his casket into the ground. Not even when everyone cries about it. Not even when he hears the apologies, those damn _I’m sorry_ ’s floating through the air.

It makes Keith feel eighteen all over again, with the words _pilot error_ hanging over his head like a dark cloud. They’d been wrong then. Shiro was alive, and Keith had saved him.

But not this time. This time, he’d been too late. He remembers Shiro standing before him in the astral plane, looking at him with those soft, kind eyes.

 _I died, Keith_.

Allura tried. God knows she _tried_. But in the end, they couldn’t put Shiro back together again. In the end, he’d somehow managed to slip through Keith’s fingers. He’s never felt so goddamn helpless. He shouldn’t be surprised, though.

When people make promises that seem impossible to keep, it’s usually because they’re lying. Maybe all along, Keith had lied to himself. Maybe _as many times as it takes_ meant a lot less than he thought. It’s the only way he can make sense of it.

People move on. Life goes back to normal for everyone except Keith. Just like before, when everyone thought Shiro’d been floating around in space. They found him, this time, but it doesn’t matter.

Takashi Shirogane is dead.

Keith repeats it to himself daily. Twice. Three times. More, if he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself. Nothing makes it feel real. Not even his memories of the funeral. Not even seeing Shiro look so, so still. Like he’d been sleeping. The best kind of sleep, the kind that you don’t want to wake up from even when you hear someone calling your name.

Keith hasn’t slept like that in a while. Hasn’t _slept_ in a while. He can’t. His dreams are drenched in regret and self-pity. Sometimes Shiro shows up, asking why Keith had given up on him. And Keith can’t answer that, because he doesn’t know where he went wrong.

All he knows is that he can’t do this—any of _this_ —without Shiro.

Something warm and wet touches his face. It's Kosmo, with his big, innocent eyes, nudging at his hand with his nose. Keith tangles his fingers in his thick fur and tries to ground himself. Kosmo’s tongue laves against the curve of Keith’s cheek. There’s a _whoosh_ , the world spinning around him far faster than his eyes can track. He closes them, overwhelmed, and finds he isn’t in his bedroom when he opens them again.

His mother reaches for him, eyes wide with surprise.

“Keith?” she murmurs, pulling him into her. He falls much easier than he should.

Kosmo whines at his feet. Keith doesn’t even have the energy to yell. The flooring of his mother’s ship is cold beneath his feet. Kosmo tries to weave himself into the spaces between their legs, pressing his muzzle insistently into Keith's calf. He half-heartedly swats him away.

Keith grabs tight onto his mother’s uniform. The fabric is stiff and unforgiving under his fingers, but her body is warm beneath that. She smells like dirt and sweat, probably from another mission with the Blades. He can’t see if there’s anyone else around with his face pressed firmly into her shoulder. It's probably better that way.

“Mom,” he starts, but nothing else comes out.

She understands, somehow. All mothers seem to be able to. Lance had talked about his a lot when they were in space. Keith had only seen her twice since it all ended. She’s a nice lady, warm and open. Like all the best parts of Lance, without everything about him that pisses Keith off.

Krolia doesn’t say anything, but her arms tighten around him. He feels a few tears fall without his permission. It's significantly less than before. Before, he'd cried so much that he swore he'd gotten dehydrated.

“I couldn’t save him,” he finally manages to mumble. Krolia runs a hand down his back, pausing to lightly rub at his shoulders every so often.

“You saved the world,” she says, as if that’s supposed to mean something.

“Not all of it.”

Krolia pulls back, forcing him to look at her. He wonders what she sees. The last time they’d met up, she’d said he should eat more. Keith had said he would but hadn’t really intended on keeping _that_ promise.

He lets his mother wipe his tears away, cradling his cheeks in her hands. Her palms are warm against his skin, war-hardened as they are. She’s trying, but there’s nothing she can do for him. There’s nothing _anyone_ can do for him.

He swallows hard, reaching down for Kosmo. He’s gone quiet, which is an unusual development. Maybe he senses something. He’d heard once that animals were good at things like that. Maybe it applies to space wolves too.

A door behind Krolia opens. Kolivan walks in, stern-faced as always. Keith feels shame wash over him as he reaches up to scrub at his damp cheeks, turning his face away from view.

“I have to go,” Krolia murmurs, pulling him close to kiss the top of his head. “I love you, Keith. So much.”

“Yeah,” he says, unable to quite repeat the words. “I know.”

Kosmo whines pitifully before he whisks them back home.

* * *

“Everyone’s asking about you.”

Acxa eyes Keith’s apartment with thinly-veiled disgust. She’s changed a lot since coming to Earth. They all have, in reality. But it seems so much more apparent with her. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that she hasn’t seen Earth before all of this. She enjoys all the mundane things, like the mall and movies and _eating out_.

Today, she deposits Chinese food onto his kitchen table. Probably from the place down the street from his. She usually tries to bring something when she comes over, as if that will somehow make Keith more welcoming. Keith stares at the little box of white rice and makes no move to touch it. Acxa sighs, like she can’t believe she’s stuck with him.

That’s another change. They’re friends, of sorts. Not anything like it had been with the others, but _something_. Keith suspects the sole reason she hangs around is because he’s the only other half-Galra prancing around Arizona.

It’s more likely because he can’t bring himself to see his other friends. He doesn’t want them to see what he’s become, how he’s retreated back to his former self. Maybe even worse than before. He doesn’t want them to be disappointed in him. Not like Shiro probably had been.

“Stop.”

Acxa kicks his ankle, hard enough to make him wince. Kosmo growls warningly, but Acxa shoots him a withering stare that has him slumping back down into his bed, chewing at an old pork bone.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“I’m not in the fucking mood.”

“Convenient,” she snaps, arms crossed tight over her chest. “Nobody blames you. So why do _you_?”

“I made a promise,” Keith offers simply. He’s lost track of how many times he’s had to explain this very thing. “And I broke it.”

Acxa’s stare is unwavering. Keith meets it head on, daring her to say something else. Her lip curls with distaste, but she doesn’t immediately fight him. Keith figures he can count it as a win.

“He wouldn’t want you to be like this.”

“You don’t know what he’d want.”

“Fine,” she says, eyes narrowed. “Tell me, then. What _would_ Shiro want, Keith?”

She has him there, and they both know it. He half-expects Acxa to look smug about it, but she just looks worried instead. Somehow it’s worse than her gloating. He’d take that over the pity any day.

“Don’t ask me that.”

“We both know it’s not this.” Her voice sounds softer. Keith fucking _hates_ it.

“Acxa.”

“Okay.” Keith can’t bring himself to look at her. “I’m going.”

He waits for her to add some biting parting remark, but the only thing he gets is the slam of his door. And then he’s alone, with nothing but the four walls around him. Kosmo, too, but Keith suspects eventually he’ll leave too.

People around him usually tend to. It’s nothing new. Shiro’s just another person on that list. Even though he’d swore he’d be different.

He’s not sure if he believes in fate or shit like that, but hell on Earth is probably his. He’s destined to let down those he cherishes most, to make hollow promises and have nothing to show for them, even when he so desperately attempts to _do something_.

Losing is Keith’s fate, even if it hurts like hell to admit it.

Later, long after Acxa is gone, long after Kosmo has drifted off to sleep, Keith lies awake. The ceiling is dark above him, lit only by the streetlamp outside his window. There’s a soft, cool breeze tonight. The air tastes crisp when Keith eagerly breathes it down.

Like this, it’s easy to imagine what things would be like if they ended the way he’d wanted them to. It’s easy to see Shiro’s face, with that boyish grin, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners. He can almost hear him, with all his gentle encouragements. He’d always been good at that, being exactly what others needed him to be. Shiro hadn’t just met the expectations of others.

He’d exceeded them.

And Keith loved him for him. Loved him so much that he knew he had to keep it to himself. He’d told him, once, but that hadn’t been _Shiro_ he told. It’s funny how that works. He’d been keeping the words to himself, repeating them to himself in his head over and over for years. But when he’d finally gotten the courage to say them, it’d been too late. The Shiro he loved was gone.

Had been gone, for a while. It’s nice to think that if things were different, Keith would’ve said the words when it mattered. It’s simple. Three little words.

But they hold the weight of the world. And Keith hadn’t been brave enough. Never will be, apparently. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. No one likes admitting their own shortcomings. Especially when they’re staring you down, urging you to accept them.

He turns on his side, shoving his face into his pillow. Shiro had told him he was special. Someone like _Keith_.

He should’ve said the same thing about himself. Should’ve realized that everything in Keith’s life worked because _Shiro_ had been there. And now that he’s gone, nothing makes sense.

Nothing ever _will_ make sense.

The pain gives way to anger. He grits his teeth against it, fists a hand in his sheets and tries to keep a lid on it. But Keith’s never owned his anger like it’s owned him. It overpowers him, has him sitting up and throwing his pillow as hard as he can against the wall.

He stands up, ripping the sheets to shreds, claws tearing through the fabric without any mercy. He screams, screams until his throat burns, until his eyes are filled with tears that just won’t fall again.

He feels fangs pricking into his lower lip, piercing the skin hard enough to draw blood. It’s bitter and metallic on his tongue, enough that he stops. Chest heaving, shoulders drawn tight, Keith tries to remember how to breath.

His claws dig into his palm. He shuts his eyes and counts, slow and even. Imagines that Shiro’s there, hand on his back, gentle voice in his ear. It’s cruel, but it _works_.

Keith slumps to the ground, exhausted. There’s broken glass beneath his foot. Maybe from his lamp. Somewhere along the line, Kosmo had scampered outside. He’s probably trying to hide under the coffee table, even though he’s two times bigger than it.

Keith holds his head in his hands, licking blood off his lip.

 _Things would be different if I had a second chance_.

He’s not sure what triggers the thought. There wouldn’t ever be a second chance for him and Shiro. Not even with how much Keith wishes for it. The world is brutal and unforgiving in that way. Mistakes aren’t met with chances to remedy them. There are only ever consequences, the kind that are inescapable and always, _always_ have disastrous effects.

Like losing someone you love.

Somehow, he falls asleep like that. Back against the bed, surrounded by his own mess, reminded once again of how much the world fucking _sucks_.

* * *

“Mr. Kogane.”

Keith jerks awake. There’s a smattering of snickers echoing around him. He sits up straight, looking wildly around the room. Where there should be dark walls and ripped sheets, everything is bright. White, and plastered with colorful posters. He’s sitting in a desk, arranged in a neat little row just like the rest of the room.

The window is propped open, the sun hot against the bare skin of his arm. There’s a woman staring him down, arms crossed over her chest. Behind her, there’s a blackboard. Suddenly, he realizes where he is.

A fucking _classroom_.

He wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Great. A nightmare about _school_ , of all things.

It could be worse. It had been worse, for the past few months. He hasn’t had school-related dreams since he got booted from the Garrison. For the life of him, he can’t remember this woman’s name. But he remembers that she’d been possibly the most miserable person he’s ever met.

Not including himself, of course.

He rakes his fingers through his hair and slouches down in his seat. His dream really hasn’t spared any details. There’s even a young James Griffin sitting up front, looking every bit like the prick he’d been at this age.

“Thank you for joining us,” his teacher continues. Miller? Martin? Whatever. Not important.

She stalks back to the front of the room, where she plasters a fake as shit smile on her face. Keith feels himself begin to sneer at it. Even in his dream, she still manages to be entirely infuriating.

“As I was saying, today I’ve invited a special guest to come in and talk to you.”

There’s something achingly familiar about the words. He freezes. It’s not that day, is it? His brain can’t possibly be that evil, right?

But then, right on cue, Shiro walks into the room. He’s exactly as Keith remembers him. Tall, with a gentle aura that makes you want to spill your secrets to him. His face is open and expressive, his heart worn on his sleeve for all to see.

He’s breathtaking, and Keith can’t look away. This is the Shiro he misses the most. Unharmed, shielded from the worst of the universe. Happy. Safe. Everything Keith had promised to give him but ultimately _couldn’t_.

It’s what makes the fact that he’s dreaming even worse. There’s a buzzing in his ears that drowns out whatever Keith’s teacher is saying. Keith can only watch Shiro, whose mouth appears to be moving. He can faintly remember what he’d said.

Everyone’s hands shoot up. He’s probably just asked about going to space. Keith’s the only one sitting still, gripping the sides of his desk hard enough to hurt. It’s then that Shiro’s eyes meet his.

Keith can’t ever forget the way it feels to have Shiro’s eyes on him. He always felt like Shiro was unraveling him bit by bit, exposing every secret that he’d valiantly tried to keep hidden. And Keith had let him tear down every wall until there was nothing left standing between them.

But something about this feels…strange. It’s too precise. He can’t remember having a dream with this much detail in it, but it’s not as if Keith regularly dreams to begin with. Maybe his body is trying to recover from all those sleepless nights he’s subjected himself to.

The rest of the students begin to file out of the room, their teacher hot on their heels. Keith lets go of the desk, his hand throbbing at the loss of pressure. For the first time, he looks down at himself. Red hoodie, grey shirt. The same damn thing he’d been wearing when he first met Shiro.

Shiro, who’s still standing at the front of the room, head cocked curiously to the side.

“Are you coming?” he asks, with a faint smile.

Keith swallows hard past the lump of his throat.

“Shiro?”

He can’t speak much louder than a whisper. Shiro’s eyebrows furrow slightly. And just like that, Keith breaks.

He says everything. How much he misses him. How sorry he is. How he wishes he could change things. Everything he’s been bottling up pours out. At the end of it all, Keith’s shaking. He’s _shaking_ , but he can fucking _breathe_.

And Shiro just… _stares_. Mouth dropped open, eyes gone a little wide. Keith can't believe it.

“Say something,” he begs. The bridge of Shiro’s nose looks red, the way it usually did when he got flustered. “Shiro? _Say something_.”

“I, uh,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

“What?” Keith feels a headache threaten to come on.

The hell kind of dream was _this_?

“This isn’t real,” he reminds himself, shaking his head. No use getting worked up about it.

Frankly, Keith’s had enough of this. He tries to will himself to wake up, but nothing quite happens. It’s like his body has trapped him in this dream. He’s not one for dream analysis, but maybe there’s something here he’s supposed to pay attention to. Allura had been big on it, and of course Lance had acted like her word was straight from god or something.

Shiro’s speaking again, but Keith ignores him. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and this is all just one dumb dream. When he wakes up, he’ll be back in his shitty apartment, forced to suffer through another long day of nothing.

But why won’t he _wake up_? Panic begins to form at the base of his spine, traveling upwards with spindly fingers to knot into the hair at the base of his neck. Sweat begins to bead along his hairline. Maybe he died in his sleep. Maybe he's dead right now, and maybe this is his punishment for leading a life filled with bullshit.

He glances at the board. There’s something about orbital velocity written on there, along with Shiro’s name. He’s not sure why, but he can hear Lance in his head then. His brain takes him back to one night on the castle, one of those nights where the universe was quiet and they were able to bond with each other.

_“Honestly, my dreams are pretty freaky. I can’t even tell if I’m dreaming or not half the time,” Lance says, practically squished against Allura on the couch. She laughs even though she probably wants to punt him across the castle. Keith would very much like to._

_“My mother used to say that if you can read something, then it’s not a dream. I don’t know if that’s always true, but it has been for me.”_

It’s a strange time for the memory to come back to him. It has Keith’s blood running cold in his veins. It’s bullshit. It has to be. He pinches himself hard enough that his flesh goes white, and a sharp pain begins to radiate from the point of contact.

Oh, _fuck_. This can’t be real. No fucking way. Shit like this doesn’t happen. People don’t suddenly time-travel. He thinks of Slav, then. Fucker would have a _field day_ with this. He’s been pretty forgiving about aliens and shit, but _this_ is absolutely impossible. He's not in some freaky wormhole. He'd just been in his _apartment_.

Even so, he finds his eyes drifting back to the board. Orbital velocity. Takashi Shirogane. Record broken by 50 kilometers. He looks away and tries again, but the words don’t change.

“Oh, shit.”

“Are you okay?” Shiro sounds beyond stressed.

He edges delicately towards Keith’s desk, one hand outstretched as if he’s approaching a wild animal. Keith mouth feels so, so dry. Orbital velocity. Takashi Shirogane.

Fucking _hell_.

“I’m fine,” Keith lies, mostly because he can’t think straight at the moment.

Shiro gives him an odd look. “Are you sure? I can probably take you to the infirmary.”

“I—gotta go,” he says, feeling very much like he’s being choked. Black dots dance viciously in his vision, his body attempting to warn him that he better chill the fuck out before he passes out.

Keith's moving before he can fully process that he is. The door slams against the wall when he bursts through. He hesitates for barely a second before he turns sharply to his left, desperate to get away from all of this.

From _Shiro_.

He’s not proud of the way he has Shiro yelling after him to wait, but he doesn’t really have another option. The possibility that he’s been suddenly thrust into the past is…well, _terrifying_. Keith doesn’t do well with things that are terrifying. Especially if he’s unprepared. So, he does what he does best in such situations.

He runs.


End file.
